No Vacancy at 221c: A BBC Sherlock Fanfic

Murder?

The sound of footsteps faded as Mycroft rounded the bend and vanished from view. The tension between the two was so intense that Celestia thought she might be able to cut the constricted air with a butter knife. Thankfully, the anxiety took its leave with said brother.

Sherlock whipped around and narrowed his eyes, stepping closer until he stood inches from Celeste. She could see her reflection in his pitch black pupils as he considered her for a moment. "Care to look into the lives of a few victims?" he finally asked slowly.

Celeste took a step back, stunned by his inquiry. That was just unnatural wasn't it? And furthermore would it even work? After a minute she realized she had still not answered the detective, who's right eyebrow was now raised in impatience. The initial absurdity of his question began to wear off and she nodded her head slowly. "Sure, why not?" She shrugged her shoulders with masked unease and followed Sherlock back into the room. The vent had ceased blowing warm air and the bodies now hung eerily above like rag dolls.

Sherlock came behind her and pulled her forcefully by the shoulders to view the closest of the figures. "Look at her," he demanded, pointing to the corpse. With a sigh Celeste looked upward, her eyes coming to meet those of a woman. Her hair was blond and straight, sticking out every which way due to the rope. She couldn't have been more than 5' 3". A spray of freckles dotted her cheeks and her once blue eyes were life-less and grey.

All at once, Celestia was pulled under, suddenly weighed down with pictures and memories and feelings. She saw an empty room and an air vent opening, she saw a hand slipping through and dropping something, a syringe. In that moment she felt such a sense of finality, almost satisfaction, as if Erin Dannel (as her door clearly indicated) was at peace with the fact that she would be dead in an hour.

Those memories began to slip and the last thing Celeste saw was the syringe being used against a guard after someone had unlocked the door. Then, she was pulled into a whirlwind of terror, all around her she saw animals of all different kinds and shapes and each one send her stomach heaving. Dogs, cats, lions, rabbits, no matter how placid it seemed it was a nightmare suddenly.

And then she was back. Back in the padded cell with three dead people and a sociopath. Lovely.

"Erin Dannel?"

Sherlock nodded. He held his hands clasped behind his back and he looked up before turning to face Celeste.

"Extreme phobic. Animals are what caused her to kill 50 pets owners she had come in contact with, and the creatures too, of course. Couldn't stand to see them, drove her insane. Apparently, she had some traumatic experience as a child but she's never told anyone the details."

Celeste barely heard a word he was saying. Nothing fit, the physical evidence didn't match up. Was it possible...

"Sherlock, these weren't murders."

"What?"

"What's the suicide rate here?"

"None, they've made it nearly impossible," he replied, trailing off as he caught her train of thought.

"The drug used to sedate the guard was smuggled in through an air vent-"
Sherlock butted in, "and there's an 87% chance that's the way Clara got in in the first place."

"So she somehow disables the door, the guard is taken out by the inmate, and then they get in here under the cover of the empty hallway facade," Celeste summarized. 

"And then.... And then she helps them escape. She's giving them the chance to die and leave this place when they had no hope of suicide before," she added softly, staring up at the dangling corpses sorrowfully.

Sherlock crossed his arms and closed his eyes, deep in thought. "There has to be a catch, this is too easy."

At that moment a speaker somewhere above them crackled to life.

"Ah yes, a catch. It's so alarmingly simple!" A cheerful voice called.

"You have to catch me."